


Rudy the Red-Nosed Cupid

by StarsAndStitches



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Embarrassed Mycroft, Funny, Gregcroft, Intoxication, M/M, Mystrade Holiday 2019, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Uncle Rudy is a tease, Uncle Rudy ships it, Young Greg, Young Mycroft, Young Mycroft Holmes/Young Greg Lestrade, meeting at Christmas, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAndStitches/pseuds/StarsAndStitches
Summary: A few days before Christmas young Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade is confronted with an enigmatic witness. Which leads to meeting an even more intriguing young government employee. What lovely Holiday surprise has Fate up her sleeve for Greg this year?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2019





	Rudy the Red-Nosed Cupid

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little story about Greg and Mycroft meeting under quite different circumstances in their youth at the most magical time of the year. Come and have some Christmas fun!
> 
> Once again many _many_ thanks to the wonderful [TheSoupDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoupDragon/pseuds/TheSoupDragon) for their beta-reading and support! 
> 
> And in case you're interested: in my head Uncle Rudy looks strikingly like Stephen Fry! 😉
> 
> Enjoy reading! ❤️

“Lestrade!” called DI Thornton, catching up with Greg in the hallway of New Scotland Yard. _Oh, bugger!_ Greg groaned inwardly, this sounded suspiciously like his boss was going to heave more work at him. Something he could rather do without, four days before Christmas when the division was a madhouse already.

“Listen,” the senior police officer began, “I need you to handle that witness from the robbery on the jewellery shop on Hatton Garden you brought in earlier.”

“Isn't Evans supposed to do it?” Greg replied grumpily. “He was the one tending to the witnesses all along.” He'd rather try to catch the robbers than interview some confused or terrified poor sod who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Afraid not. Bit of a special case, that 'un.”

“How so, sir?”

Thornton shrugged. “Seems to be some bigwig from Whitehall. Could get us into troubled waters if we botch this up.” He gave a half-grin. “Evans is a good copper, sure thing, and will make his way in time. But this is too big for him. You're my best sergeant, Greg! Good with people. You can handle it without stepping on some high and mighty toes. I trust you with this.” And with a conspiratorial wink he added, “And you never know. If you make a good impression, get your name known to the right ears, you might make DI yourself before you hit 30.”

“Okay,” Greg conceded. “S'pose he's in the drying-out cell?”

His boss nodded. “Can't have that merry chap roaming around freely.” He clapped Greg's shoulder reassuringly before walking away. “Just treat him like an honoured guest. Good luck, Greg!”

Alone again, Greg went about to look for DC Evans. It had been a curious affair, that jewellery shop robbery. Four men had entered the shop, pulled on masks and sprayed around a thick cloud of some narcotic gas that left the staff and customers present sneezing and coughing. And giggling uncontrollably at some joke only they could see. Easy enough for the robbers to get away with their spoils before anybody was able to trigger an alarm. Greg and Evans had been the first on the crime scene and had found a group of intoxicated people seated on the floor, laughing giddily and sneezing, the elderly shop owner leading a spirited sing-along of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”. Thank God, no one was harmed, and most of them were seen safely home. Their statements had been more or less useless anyway. Only that one well-dressed customer seemed to have had his wits about a bit more and could offer some flimsy tidbits to describe the culprits, between bouts of hysterical laughter and utter nonsense. All that had happened a couple of hours previously, and as he wasn't in any condition for reasonable questioning, the witness had been left to sober up under the tender care and watchful eyes of the Metropolitan Police.

“Hey, Rhys, there you are,” Greg said when he found the younger officer, “get me that gent from the jewellery shop, yeah? Ol' Thorny wants me to talk to him now.”

“Sure, Greg,” Evans was visibly relieved, “honestly, that bloke scares me. Told me right to my face that my mum's diabetic. Saw it from my ears or something. Scary if yer ask me, mate.”

“Yeah, right. Pretty observant I'd say. Let's see what I can get out of him.”

A few minutes later, DC Evans ushered the witness to Greg's desk in the large office of the Serious Crime division. A middle-aged man, early fifties probably. And tall, well over six feet, a bit on the beefy side. He was dressed in an expensive looking three-piece suit and an overcoat, all of them slightly crumpled after his unexpected stay at the Yard. A striking nose dominated the face, reddened from the constant sneezing and sniffing. His eyes were a light blue or green or grey, Greg wasn't sure. The appearance was completed with a tinsel garland he had slung around his neck like a feather boa.

Greg stood and extended his hand. “Good afternoon, sir. I'm Detective Sergeant Lestrade. May I bother you with some questions?”

The gentleman grinned at him somewhat sheepishly and swept back his grey hair in a dramatic gesture. “Bother me, my fine lad, bother me.” he intoned in a booming voice but didn't take Greg's hand. Apparently he wasn't as sober as would have been preferable.

_Christ! Gonna be more difficult than I thought,_ thought Greg. “Please take a seat.” He turned to Evans. “Can you get us some decent tea, Constable?”  _Well, here we go. Be polite, Greg! Treat him like a guest._

When Evans hurried off, the witness folded himself onto the visitor's chair in front of Greg's desk. He took great pains to cross his long legs daintily and straightened the crease of his trousers. The tinsel garland also needed some adjustment to satisfy his sartorial requirements. He smiled benignly.

Greg sat and cleared his throat. “Ehm...,” he began viewing the documents on his desk, “I take it that you are Mr. Rudolph Lansworth. Is that correct? That's the name you gave Constable Evans.”

“Indeed I am,” said Mr. Lansworth pompously and hiccuped. He reached inside his pocket and produced a wallet. Greg could glimpse some highly unusual and important looking ID cards before his witness retrieved a business card and slid it across the desk gracefully.

Greg took the card.  _Blimey!_ The piece of heavy paper contained nothing more than the name, a phone number and an e-mail address that ended with '.gov.uk'. No association, no position title. It was assumed that whoever was given such a card would know who this Rudolph Lansworth was. The demonstration of power that lay in this understatement sent a shiver along Greg's back. If his boss had been given it as well, it was no wonder that he got cold feet.

_Well then._


End file.
